To keep things shiny, I’m trying out a new hashtag: #TwoOnOneTuesday. No one loves a little alliteration as much as I do. Well, I know of one particular homoerotic wrestling producer who does, but other than that, I suspect alliteration tickles me more than you (which reminds me, I think there ought to be more tickling in homoerotic wrestling!). In any case, Two-On-One-Tuesdays may, or may not, end up being a thing. You can let me know what you think in the comments. But so far I like it. There’s something particularly sexy about seeing a couple of mates manhandling and mastering a muscleman, making him moan and milking his misery.
Possibly the first 2-on-1 match that I got off on was the Tag Team Torture 2 match where Jeff Phoenix’ partner was a no show. There was no mention of who the son of a bitch was who abandoned this bulging, blue eyed, blond beefcake to face notorious heels Jose and Cruz alone. Wouldn’t that have been a sensational grudge match sequel, when Jeff beat the living fuck out of the traitor!? Jeff held his own for a while against this 2-on-1, just long enough to make the coverboy cocky, which turns Jose and Cruz’ double team demolition that much sweeter.
The bitter divorce of Jonny Firestorm and Calvin Haynes’ tag team led instantly to the sensationally sexy double-team of Calvinby Jonny and his rebound partner, pretty-pretty Royce Perry. I’ve nursed this fantasy pretty much every time I’ve had a rough break-up. Seriously, I always have this exact fantasy of meeting my ex in a wrestling ring, revealing the mouth-wateringly hot new model I traded up for, and the two of us beating him down, turning him on, and leaving him with blue balls. Just me?
Over at W4H, sexy go-go boy Christian Thorn apparently took so many brutally one-sided beatings that Cameron arranged for him to take some wrestling lessons from pro hunks Ronny Pearl and Teddy Trouble. What could go wrong? The classy pros put the pretty boy through his paces, but perhaps it’s too much of a good thing. Double-teamers take notes: 2-on-1 babyface jobber crushing can go wildly off the rails if you can’t get on the same page with your partner.
It’s another pro vs. Instahunk story when Joey King takes advantage of his extensive experience to humble bodybuilder Steel in Rough & Ready 103. But Joey’s simmering feud with that other Instahunk, Scrappy, comes back to bite him in his lovely, round ass, when Scrapster joins the fray. So, sure, I can totally tune in to pretty muscleboy posers working up a head of steam on a bad ass pro.
Regular readers will recognize this tendency I have to get totally infatuated with a particular wrestler who may, or may not, be objectively more notable than anyone else. And there we have Weekend Wrestling’s Pretty Boy Assassin. I don’t know exactly what it is that turns my crank quite as hard as he does, but I’m screaming to tag in with him when he’s getting double teamedby his official opponent, Brendan Byers, and WW’s boss man Cole Cassidy. Fuck, now I’ve got a fierce rescue fantasy churning away. Just one more way a two-on-one can turn me on!
Let me know what you think about #TwoOnOneTuesdays, and if they should stay on the menu.
The first time I posted about my appreciation of the value added by tan lines, I received some surprising back channel heat. There are, apparently, some guys who find tan lines unsightly. I honestly had no idea. I’ve always found them provocative and tantalizing. There’s something that much closer to naked about tan lines. They signal something vulnerable, something delicate, to otherwise hard bodied beefcake. They allude to modesty unmasked, to an uncommon intimacy shared with those who get a glimpse of them. Tan lines serve as a literal and figurative boundary, and in the homoerotic gaze, they seem to inherently speak to disregarding boundaries and propriety and self-restraint. All my respect to the hot hunks on a quest for that all-over tan, but as for me, I get an extra hard heart pump from an impossible to miss tan line!
Calvin Haynes’ sensational ass turns me on that much harder when Mason Brooks’ reveals his beautiful tan line in their match on Calvin’s Wrestler Spotlight.
Drake Marcos, bless his heart, tanned like a mother fucker before getting his turn riding muscle cherub Gabriel Cross inX-Fights 34. The bike shorts he was soaking up the sun in left an indelible mark in my memory.
When Alexi Adamov got to be the first at BGE to get his hands on Mitch Colby on Alexi’s Wrestler Spotlight, I was shocked by how enticingly distracting Mitch’s tan line is, even with all of that ripped, gorgeous, sweaty muscle everywhere to look at.
Rhino taped several matches for Thunder’s Arena sporting bike shorts tan lines that somehow make his massively thick thighs look just that much more gargantuan. Here, he’s got Scrappy draped across his shoulders like wet towel in Mat Rats 105, and somehow all I can see are those sexy-as-fuck tan lines.
I feel in my gut that Alex Oliver doesn’t really get just how crazy-sexy he is getting plowed under in a made-for-gay-eyes wrestling match. His deep, deep, dark tan contrasting with his lily white upper thighs on display in Cameron’s manhandling of the boy makes me want to lick him so, so much.
Help me out and let me know what more sexy-as-fuck tan lines to watch for in homoerotic wrestling!
Despite wrestling under similar names, Skrapper and Scrappy are a study in contrasts. To my knowledge Skrapper is a BG East exclusive, appearing in 15 matches between about 2008 and 2016. Scrappy, on the other hand, has wrestled in more than 50 matches for Thunders Arena, 9 matches for Muscleboy Wrestling, and 6 matches for Wrestler4Hire, to my knowledge. Scrappy is a luscious aesthete, whose curly locks and baby face contradict the erotic art of his luxuriously thick, impeccably sculpted, compact muscle physique. Skrapper, on the other hand, is severely lean, like a barely legal endurance swimmer, stitched together with homespun, taut muscle, bone, and sinew. Skrapper is as serious as a heart attack, with his deep, rumbling baritone layered atop the stunned whimpers of his opponents, who are absolutely never prepare for the mountain of merciless hurt he buries them under; whereas Scrappy’s 2nd tenor is irrepressibly playful, more unselfconsciously dangerous than driven. Both stunning studs make me swoon, but with Scrappy, it’s because he’s so frivolously fuckable, like he could make macrame dizzyingly homoerotic with nothing more than that impish grin and a knowing look over his shoulder as he catches the camera seduced by his relentless, cock tease ass cheeks. Skapper, on the other hand, seems unaware of his inescapable erotic allure, dripping with an intoxicating mix of aggression, passion for competition, and sexual pleasure derived from conquering a combatant, the bigger the better. Skrapper is like the meat and potatoes of the diet. Scrappy is the mouthwatering confection at the end of the meal.
This is the point at which, in past blogging experience, I would start obsessing over every detail of a fantasy wrestling match, struggling to get down in print the erotic pleasure playing out in my imagination. This would send me spinning for days on end, making every post a belabored (if loved) odyssey. In the interest of self-care and not burning out too, too quickly again on blogging, I will try to stick to just the broad strokes (pun intended) and overall outline of why this fantasy match is a winner.
Scrappy and Skrapper would, most naturally, need to square off on the mats. Neither of these storied wrestlers ever hit their strides in a wrestling ring. For the sake of fair play, let’s just say the venue is a generic Florida sun room, since both hunks have abundant experience in that general genre. The opening minutes would epitomize the inherent conflict between their two natures. Scrappy would flex and preen and toss disposable trash talk all over the place, particularly expressing contempt for his opponent’s “swimmer’s build.” Skrapper would be happy enough to take in the spectacular sight, but would quickly enough grow impatient with the preener. Scrappy’s trash talk would bounce off Skapper unacknowledged and apparently unnoticed. Sooner or later, Skrapper would exploit the narcissist’s self-love, coming up from behind the bodybuilder’s dazzling double-bicep as if in admiration, only to grab him around his tiny waist and suplex the mother fucker to the mat unceremoniously.
I see the first fall playing out in rapid fire succession, with Skrapper initiating offense every fucking second. There’d be a lot of scrambling across the mat. Skrapper would lock down full and half nelson’s, stretching the dumbfounded pin-up out viciously. Scrappy would repeatedly bear down in a flex, slowly, but surely, popping free from one Skrap-trap after another, but like a chess master, Skrapper would already be two steps ahead. The first fall would be all about wiping the cocky grin off of Scrappy’s cherubic face. Skrapper’s hammerlock on the hunk would press the bulging shoulder joint a fraction too far, sparking desperate screams to punctuate Scrappy’s petulant whimpers. Between cries of agony, Scrappy would snarl and snap out promises of retribution on the “skinny little fucker,” which would make Skrapper smile. He loves wringing astonished respect out of beefy muscle hunk like this. Skrapper would keep snapping shut traps, like an ankle lock transitioned into a bow-and-arrow, a muscle-wasting rear-naked choke, and an early-gambit camel clutch. They chip away at the bodybuilder by inches, making him suck down the humiliation and power free time after time, only to fall face-first into another trap. Skrapper would just be too fast, too focused, and too well-executed. Finally, I see the Skrapper-swarm landing Scrappy in a deep-seated Boston crab. Scrappy would refuse the demand that he submit, until Skrapper unhooks a leg to free one hand, and reaches down and throttles Scrappy’s dangling balls. The neighbors would hear those screams of animal agony, when Scrappy screeches out an enraged first fall submission, pounding the mat.
Fall 2 would start out with a much wiser, more cautious Scrappy reassessing the situation. He’d still have that look on his face that makes Skrapper hard, namely the look of disbelief as the muscle hunk stares in shock at the ultra lean, juvenile-looking “skinny” kid who just kicked his ass at will. Scrappy would have broken out into a sweat after all of those hard-won flexing escapes. Skrapper would be chill as fuck, just returning the gaze with a look that says he knew all along he’d make this muscle hunk his bitch. Scrappy would bitch and moan about fighting dirty, as if there are any rules, as if Skrapper hadn’t mopped the floor with his sweat soaked body unchecked before he wrung the beefcake out with that ball claw. Scrappy would be the one with the unexpected lunge to start Fall 2, catching his gloating opponent flat-footed with a vicious knee into this balls that hits so hard Skrapper is lifted off his feet before crumbling to the mat. There’s nothing quite as tasty for a homoerotic wrestling fan as the sight of babyface muscleboy going dark and offensively offensive. This not being Scrappy’s first rodeo, he doesn’t give his winded opponent time to recover. He’d have to demonstrate that all of those endless hours at the gym were worth it, of course. Dominating hold after hold, power move after power move, the inherent message would be to demand respect for the muscle. He’d pick Skrapper up like a rag doll, cradled across his magnificent, broad chest, and parade the lightweight around the mat. He’d pound him down in an OTK backbreaker, but muscle him back up cradled across his chest the next second. Down again, up again, down again. Finally, he’d leave Skrapper hanging on the line like wet laundry, prying his chin backward with one hand, and pressing down on Skrapper’s knee with the other to fold the grappler sickeningly in half in the direction his spine isn’t made to go. Skrapper isn’t one to vocalize easily, so it would take Scrappy wringing the trapped stud’s cock and balls out ruthlessly in hand to make the bass rumble gasp and bite back the words, “Oh, God, no.” Frankly, Scrappy could probably take fall 2 any time he wanted, once he’s low-blowed his opponent into a pulp. But Scrappy has a point to prove. No skinny kid, no matter how fierce an attitude, is going to dominate a gym-honed, genetically gifted, lovingly crafted muscle physique like his. He’d body slam Skrapper with authority, which is a serious bitch, because it’s just a couple inches of wrestling mat padding over slate tile to break the fall. Skrapper would arch and writhe in almost incoherent agony, but Scrappy would just stomp him down flat with heel strikes to his gut. He’d drag Skrapper up by his hair, just for the humiliation, before driving a knee strike to his lower abdomen (clipping his crotch intentionally), doubling the stud over before he snaps his gargantuan muscle quads around Skrap’s ears and squeezes. Scrappy would flex to the accompaniment of the low rumble of bass agony between his thighs, flashing double biceps and most musculars for the extravagance and gratuity. Skrapper would try to climb off his knees, but a fresh wave of quad flexing would repeatedly drive him back down again. Finally, Scrappy would bend forward and hook his arms around Skrapper’s midsection, pull him off his feet, upside down, and hoist him up in the air to suspend him across one massive shoulder in a backbreaker. Skrapper would bite down the pain for a while, refusing to give the satisfaction of a quick submission to the hold, but he’d give in the end. Scrappy would fling him back to the mat in a heap and, of course, flex victoriously over his opponent’s motionless body.
To start fall 3, you’d have both wrestlers now wiser, more cautious, and with just enough of a taste of the decisive fall to make them salivate. Scrappy would be back to delivering taunting, laughing trash talk. Skrapper would be deadly silent, head down, eyes up, coiled. The taste of the second fall victory would still be on the tongue, making Scrappy a half a second slow to defend himself from a shoulder block to the gut. Skrapper would charge forward, lifting the bodybuilder off his feet and skewering him to the wall. Scrappy would fling the lightweight off of him, which would launch Skrapper across the room to land on his fine, fine ass. Give and take, back and forth, they’d trade gambits. Scrappy would feign a slow step to draw a single leg attempt, only to come down squarely with a brutal double fisted chop to back of Skrapper’s neck for the trouble. Skrapper would let the bodybuilder charge 3 words into a compound sentence of gloating trash talk, just to interrupt him with a jab to the gut and a huge uppercut to the balls. Scrappy would try to be telling the end of the story of might-makes-right, working to domineer over his slighter opponent with mountainous muscle mass. Skrapper would weave his hero’s tale of potently underestimated threat crushing oversized ego to match a superhuman physique. Scrappy would rip Skrapper’s tight trunks off first, with that locker-room bully chuckle, as if Skrapper’s nakedness would just further reveal his impotence in the face of a muscle god. Skrapper’s unsheathed power tool, already swelling with excitement, would give the muscle god pause, though. Skrapper would take advantage of his hypnotized opponent to grab him by the trunks and literally rip them off at the seams. By now, we’ve all seen Scrappy in that particular glory that is his beauty in nothing but sweat and a jock strap. Fuck, he knows how insanely sexy his naked ass is, and he’d have that twinkle in his eye as Skrapper soaks in the sight and smell of him. Scrappy would sense his victory at hand, his mere mortal of an opponent laid bare before him, his own divine muscles sucking his opponent into his thrall like gravitational pull. But fuck, have you seen Skrapper naked and backed into a corner? Shit. He’d sweep his legs and punch him in the balls before Scrappy’s back hit the mat. Talk about a swarm, just picture Scrappy on his back, taking knee strike after knee strike to his balls, sweat pouring down from the badger bearing down on him from above. A figure-4 leg lock would make Scrappy scream (scream!) a humiliating submission, but fuck that. That’s just to make sure the demigod doesn’t try to run away before all the fun has been had. Wrapping his lean, tightly coiled naked body around his legs, Skrapper would rip him open in a spladle.
The submissions would start raining down like a thunderstorm, but they’d fall on deaf ears. Skrapper would coil his ripcord legs around Scrappy’s midsection to knead the air and fight out of him like bread dough. Then he’d work his way north, locking down face-to-naked-crotch headscissors, squeezing so long and hard that Scrappy’s alabaster visage would turn plum. This is all Skrapper’s story to tell now. It’s a story of tenacity and self-confidence that spit in the face of long odds. It’s the story of ruthless, merciless, depraved punishment that makes an invincible god shatter into a writhing mass of picture perfect helplessness. It’s the story of 7 throbbing inches of explosive power sliding almost frictionless between two of the most sought-after, rock hard, muscled glutes in the business, before erupting in a jet of ecstasy arching it’s path up an astonishingly wide back and into the sweat soaked curly locks of a downed angel.
Oy. See what happens? Well, in case you’re a new reader, welcome to what passes for brevity and self-restraint from me. For the record, I’d see this fantasy match of contrasts heading inevitably into Skrapper’s advantage, and I’d picture him pounding out a cum shot victory having punished Scrappy’s delicious ass for having teased all of us gay wrestling fans for far, far too long.
As I was saying yesterday, the process of curating the pics of Scrappy getting his trunks pulled prompted me to notice that he gets his hair pulled even more often than his trunks! He’s got a sensational head of hair, and those curls cry out for getting pulled. Heels cannot resist lacing their fingers through his cherubic locks and yanking him around. There’s clearly a huge market for humiliating Scrappy. With a physique that stacked, a face that pretty, and a smirk that cocky, it’s little wonder his catalog is populated by endless examples of him screaming in helpless agony, owned and abased. You’ve got to love seeing this musclebaby cry!
In Scrappy vs. Chace LaChance vs. Gabe Steel, there are lot’s of trading allegiance double-teams, but watching beefy Gabe and Chace working over Scrappy is definitely my favorite constellation. Scrap whimpers like a crybaby when Gabe drags his fine, fine ass up by a handful of hair.
In Ring Wars 83, Brute brutalizes the barefoot babyface every which way. Babyface bullying like this is classic, and Scrap’s screams as Brute pulls on his thick locks are compelling.
It’s a surprising give-and-take when bearded beefcake Dax Carter steps onto the Muscleboy mat with Scrappy. Copious sweat and viciousness, like this screw-top hairpull-chinlock, whip these boys into quite a sexy froth.
Pro bad ass Joey King strips, rips, and rides Scrappy hard in Custom Video 61. On his hands and knees, the terror in Scrappy’s eyes as Joey drags him around by his hair is such sexy drama!
In Mat Rats 105, Joey comes back to pass on his veteran tips to hot hunk protege Rhino, including teaching that same maneuver, putting Scrappy on his hands and knees and steering him to complete humiliation with two handfuls of hair.
Proving the point that fucking over Scrappy never get old, Joey also drags Scrappy’s sweat soaked hotness all over the Thunder’s garage mat in Mat Wars 74. Scrappy keeps working out, wracking up wrestling experience, getting smarter and meaner, and still, beefy heels like Joey tenderize him like a side of beef and humiliate him with laughing hair pulls.
Little surprise that Scrappy takes out his pent up frustration so fiercely when he’s on offense, like in his rip-and-strip beach match against lovely blond bro Drew Harper over at W4H. Can’t you just see the ghosts of Gabe, Brute, Dax, Joey, and Rhino haunting him as he drags Drew through the surf by his hair?
It’s little wonder he’s one of the top stars on the scene right now. Scrappy brings so much to the world of homoerotic wrestling, including such sensational handles to pull on!
I’m trying out new hashtags for the rebooted blog. Today, I’m giving #wastedWednesday a trial run. It’s an homage to that spectacularly sweet moment in wrestling when a once bold, brash, cocky competitor is out-hustled and outmuscled. In straight-up pro wrestling, a hard-bodied hunk laid waste is probably just denouement. The camera centers on the pumped victor. The story is his story. But in wrestling for gay eyes, the camera frequently zooms back in on the vanquished, savoring the sight of his humiliation. It’s as much a story about his heartbreak as it is about the winner’s celebration. I think for many homoerotic wrestling fans, seeing a muscle hunk demolished can be pretty fucking climactic (at least it is in my pants). Bulging muscles left impotent. A swollen, cock-sure ego smashed to bits. Power and promise and danger pounded into a puddle of helplessness. For my tastes, the prettier, the stronger, the cockier the waste-ee, the better. So this is my little love letter to the hot, homoerotic wrestling hunks who gave it their all and, in the end, were left unable to lift a finger to defend themselves. Let me know if you think @wastedWedensday should be a thing.
Gabriel Cross is left upended (literally) by Van Ryder in their Muscleboy Wrestling match. Gabriel’s journey from twink to muscle hunk is one of the most dramatic transformations in homoerotic wrestling history. Seeing his spectacular physique laid waste and his cherubic face out cold is so, so sweet.
Pete Sharp took BG East by storm there for a couple of years. Pete’s gargantuan package earned him an instant Best Bulge award 3 seconds after he arrived, but damn, was there even on inch of that 6’2″ blond, blue-eyed beefcake that wasn’t perfection? Show up looking like that, built like that, and you’ve got to expect some respect. But fuck, no. Not only did his one-time buddy Lon Dumont mercilessly maul the cocky hunk, but Braden Charron completed his titanic heel turn by dragging Pete’s gorgeous ass all over the ring. His tenure in homoerotic wrestling was far too brief, but damn Pete left a big impression!
W4H’s Colt vs. Drago match is the paradigmatic #wastedWednesday story. Adorable Colt uses chloroform and one sleeper after another to repeatedly make Drago’s divine muscles go slack. All 6’4″ and 240 lbs of Drago are putty in Colt’s hands. Drago rouses, struggles, starts to fight back, but Colt clamps on another sleeper, wringing the tautness out of huge, flexing muscles. Rouse, ring, repeat.
During my hiatus from blogging, Scrappy evolved from a naughty, pretty boy into a franchise player with the body of a god. It does not surprise me at all that he is wracking up one of the most extensive homoerotic wrestling resumes in history, across multiple companies. He’s such a fan pleaser. It probably shouldn’t come as a surprise that opponents all want a piece of him. The sight of Scrappy’s powerfully sculpted muscles gone slack and his little boy face out cold, like when Rhino makes a name for himself posing over top of him, is such a turn on.
I was an instant Alex Oliver fan from the moment I laid eyes on him wrestling as Gus Rowe for BG East. He has a perennial look of a smirking frat boy accustomed to being the hottest and handsomest, which I assume the the very vibe that makes him such a target for getting absolutely thrashed over, and over, and over again. The method of his destruction varies, as do his opponents, but the match ain’t over until Alex is out cold and ass-up. Seriously, it’s his signature finishing move. This perennial jobber just can’t lose when it comes to turning me on, with his wasted, prone body, crushed, humiliated, and helpless.
So what do you think? What wrestlers never look better than when they’re worn out, rung dry, and laid out wasted? #wastedWednesday
If you’re new around here, you may not have heard that pretty much everything inspires my homoerotic wrestling imagination. One of my longest-standing, relatively random inspirations has been hot guys on television news. For a while, I thought it was just my imagination, prompting me to fantasize about hard, hot bodies underneath the suits of the handsome faces hired to look trustworthy. But no one can ignore the flagrant display of hot journalist beef all over the airwaves these days. It’s not just me combing through the minutiae and piecing together Chris Cuomo’s bulging biceps and Gio Benitez’ mouthwatering pecs out of nothing more than public social media accounts and confirmation bias. These days, the news hunks are quite obviously getting hunkier, unbuttoning their shirts, posting workout videos, and finding excuses to show off their hard toned gym bodies. Thus was born The News Division series of homoerotic wrestling fiction that I’m slowly transcribing from an old private site to the pages of this blog. I’ll post an updated version of a new chapter tomorrow.
If you aren’t new around here, this is all old news. So let me move on to the new addition to my newsmen crush lexicon. My local weatherman is a nerd stud. He’s skinny. Literally, a marathoner. He’s no Hollywood heartthrob, but he’s got a seriously cute, boyish face. Quick wit. I’d schoolboy pin him in a second. But the real star of the show is that ass of his when he takes of his suit coat and steps up to the map. Specifically, he makes me gasp every time he turns to point to the weather map and shows off his remarkably perky, round ass in profile. Solid, sculpted muscle, made all that more stunning by his skinny, little waist. Not everyone has the genetics and laboriously-built muscle to be able to show off such lovely side butt. There are huge, bulging bodybuilders who do squats for years and never pull off the perfectly round globes that my skinny weatherman has. From behind, you can’t always measure the perkiness-factor like you can with side butt.
So, in honor of my weatherman and the provocative gift of a tiny waist and gorgeous, round glutes, I’ve spent more time than I should have curating this annotated collection of homoerotic wrestling hunks showing off sensational side butt.
BGE’s classic baby face muscle boy Troy Baker gave pin-up boy quality side butt. I’m also a fan of Troy’s tan lines, which serve as a highlighter spotlighting his beautifully round, alabaster cheeks.
My longest-reigning favorite homoerotic wrestler and multi-Best Butt and Body winner Kid Karisma possesses one of the perkiest, most muscular ass cheeks on the planet. He’s a study in physical perfection from every angle, but he gives choice side butt.
Tyrell Tomsen is an adonis, with extravagant, luscious meat draped from every joint. You have not lived if you have yet to see every awesome inch of Tyrell in Strip Stakes 1, which, frankly, has sort of spoiled me for every other strip stakes match I’ve seen. It’s hard not to let your eyes roam over him, but if you’ve got the self-discipline, you’ll see that his thick, solidly muscled glutes are perfect in profile.
Epitomizing the tapered-V, Scrappy (Thunders, W4H, Muscleboy) possesses perfect proportions. The way his tiny waist perches on top of his lush, thickly muscled ass makes him a side butt poster boy.
One of the more controversial figures in the annals of homoerotic wrestling history, Rio Garza had a remarkable gift for dividing fans and wrestlers alike. But can we all agree to the self-evident fact that the Mexican muscleboy sports practically perfectly round glutes that make for sensational side butt?
This photo demonstrates the extremely rare (IMO) phenomenally hot double side butt perfection of last year’s Best Body winner Van Skyler on the left bearhugging Payton Meadows on the right. Their Undagear 26 face off really deserves to be cross-listed as a Fantasymen product, because they are both ripped from the pages of an erotic fantasy. But for butt watching, it’s out of this world, and for two pairs of the sweetest, roundest ass profiles to appear in one match, it cannot be beat.
I should’ve quit a while back, but I couldn’t stop myself from digging into the archives just a bit more for choice side butt. Blond, blue eyed bombshell Jeff Phoenix had all too brief a stint in the ring for BG East, but that all-over tan and magnificent physique surely ought to arise from the ashes for a comeback, don’t you think? And side butt that juicy needs a severe tongue lashing, if you ask me.
It’s probably criminal to have any discussion of phenomenal asses without extensive homage paid to Mike Columbo’s legendary glutes. In my hiatus from following the scene, I’ve lost track of whether the Mike Columbo fanatics are still actively worshiping at his altar, but I still keep a candle light for two of the thickest thighs and the superhumanly proportioned profile of his most famous assets.
But honestly, I was always more of a classic Mikey Vee fanatic than a Mike Columbo devotee. In Mikey’s early days at BG East, he was a devastatingly adorably bad ass in a baby face disguise.
I’ve got half a dozen other hot hunks for whom, I bet, I’d find scintillating shots of side butt, but I’m going to draw a line there rather than work on this post for days on end. You, however, can tell me who I missed in the comments!
When I decided to resurrect the blog here, I thought about what I enjoyed most about the exercise. I’m planning on leaning into the pleasure, in the interest of maintaining a healthy, long-term relationship with the task of putting my homoerotic wrestling thoughts into text. As a result, you can count on seeing more wrestling fiction, more guessing games, and, yes, I strongly suspect you’ll find me obsessing about hot news boys. One of the countless little value added elements to homoerotic wrestling for me is a hearty yank on an opponent’s trunks, and thus the tradition of Trunk Pull Tuesday.
I’d go so far as to suggest that trunk pulls were one of the first subtle elements in professional wrestling to ignite my homoerotic imagination. Ostensibly, a wrestler grabs his opponent’s trunks for leverage. With next to nothing else adorning the wrestling body, a wrestler uses the trunks as a handle to snap that snap mare, to drag him into motion in order to pound him that much harder with a fist, or a knee, or a clothesline.
Of course, that’s not the only thing I saw, as a kid growing up watching hot bodied hunks wrestling on television. I saw alluring glimpses of skin and tan lines normally discretely covered by modest patches of fabric. There was a fleeting view of a little more ass cheek, a tantalizing flash of lower abdomen, implicitly drawing attention away from the wrestling text and toward the erotic subtext just beneath the surface.
It remains a particularly titillating element in homoerotic wrestling, as far as I’m concerned, when, wrestling for gay eyes, a grappler yanks on his opponent’s trunks. Even when it isn’t prelude to stripping gear off entirely, it automatically bridges the narrative of combat and the story of sexual arousal. There’s still a third layer of eroticism for me when I can tell the puller gets it, that he knows how sexy this is, that he is, like I am, turned on not just by the competition for falls, not just the pleasure of spoiling a ripped opponent’s modesty, but that he feels the gravitational pull of the whole thing drawing him, and his opponent, and his audience into an explicit story of sexual attraction with the turbo boost of wrestling for erotic position.
The driving momentum of all those homoerotic wrestling punches and headlocks and spladles and scissors is heading toward a story centered on what happens in the geography underneath the trunks. There are endless recipes involving various quantities of aggression, narcissism, brutality, contempt, competition, ego, and lust, but the trunk pull is a tried and true ingredient for turning up the erotic heat, at least for the gay wrestling fan, if not for the combatants themselves.
Okay, I’ve banned myself from searching for more tasty trunk pulls. For now. Until next Tuesday. Keep yanking, wrestlers (and fans).
I had every intention of posting some more niche categories for you to chime in on as we look back on the best of homoerotic wrestling for 2016. But alas, time and tide await for no man. The clock has nearly run out on 2016, and probably not a second too soon. So instead of polling the readers, I’m just going to put forth a few of my own personal picks for the best in homoerotic wrestling in a few more categories almost certain not to show up in any official year end fan polls.
Fuck, I love a big, broad, thickly muscled back. I suppose a lot of guys probably don’t think of the back as a particularly lust worthy. I, on the other hand, think a hot, sexy back is immense value added. It seems far too often neglected by the gym bunny crowd, making a truly gorgeous, crafted classic V and wide wing span that much more notable. Again, for my tastes, there are mechanics involved, like proportion, shape, and thickness, but that last, little, hard-to-articulate aesthetic comes down to whether a back makes me ache to slap down a massive load across the expanse of it. So, as with everything, it’s about what it inspires in me as much as any particular objective, measurable quality that we could all agree on. My top three favorite backs in 2016, in reverse order, are as follows:
2nd runner up is Lon Dumont. So much has been said about Lon’s phenomenal abs, and deservedly so. But damn, that back is a work of art! I would love to see 2017 be the year that opponents climb into the ring with Lon and acknowledge what a hot, rocking body this magnificent muscleman possesses, and fuck, that back should be on the list of things for an opponent with taste to admire.
1st runner up for me is BG East’s muscleboy Van Skyler. He’s a dizzyingly sexy fantasyman from the front, sure, but fuck, that gorgeous back could be more perfect only with a stream of cum painted across it.
I don’t have access to better pics, but trust me, Thunder’s Arena’s Scrappy has a magnificent back. His perfect V points like an arrow that supremely fuckable ass. He’s phenomenal to watch wrestle. The attitude, the power, the beauty from every angle. But my heart rate spikes every time I see his best side. Scrappy has his admirers, clearly, but I have think that he’s one of the most underrated athletes in the homoerotic wrestling industry. He’s a handsome fucker with some sweet mat skills, but I’m waiting for him to just turn around, extend that lat spread and flex those glutes, and bring the right opponent to his knees.
Best Tag Team.
There were precious few tag team matches in homoerotic wrestling in 2016. A producer once told me that tag team matches are few and far between because it’s just too much of a pain in the ass coordinating 4 different schedules (plus the production crew). So they’re a rare treat that I, personally, enjoy immensely. So here are my top 3 favorite tag teams in 2016, picked out of some inexact formula of ring skills, beauty, teamwork and chemistry, with just a little of that extra added allure of making we want to join them in a 3 way (and I’m not strictly talking wrestling now).
2nd runner ups for me were the fascinating pairing of two sensational, iconic figures in homoerotic wrestling, Z-Man and Austin Cooper, teaming up for Rock Hard Wrestling in All-Star Brawl. I’m not convinced that they have a ton of chemistry when working together, but two hot, sexy stars this big and this popular make a sensationally sexy pairing.
1st runner ups, and thus first in line for me to climb into a petite, muscle packed, loin clothed sandwich with, are Wrestle4Hire’s Ravaging Savages, namely Zach Reno and Matt Blakewood. These bearded badasses were a thrilling surprise for me in their magnificent take down of behemoth muscle giant Mark Muscle. Despite pulling off some fabulously coordinated double teaming, I think they are just a little unequally yoked, as evidenced by Matt having to turn alpha and order Zach around a bit to finally finish off their superhuman opponent. But holy fuck, these micro beasts were a sensational turn on for me in 2016.
In what has to be the hottest, most entertaining tag team match in homoerotic wrestling this year (this decade?), ginger newbie Charlie Evans joined forces with fantasy veteran Christian Taylor to bring down the house in Tag Team Torture 19. Their opponents, newbie Chase Addams and Trophy Boy Ty Alexander, could have totally taken this award, if their out of control vanities hadn’t set them on a path to self-destruction from the start. What Team Vanity lacked in teamwork and coordination, Team All-Americans excelled at. This was such a fabulous narrative of earnest babyfaces versus narcissistic heels, with the juicy melodrama of the upstanding All-Americans suffering heaping loads of underhanded brutality, and yet enduring, having each others backs, and through raw skill, will, and teamwork staying in the fray long enough for their egomaniacal opponents to make one too many mistakes. I would pay a premium for those dick selfies they snapped with Team Vanity’s phones. And absolutely, if there’s a tag team I’d most want to join for a rip and strip, baby oiled menage a trois, in 2016, it’s Team Vanity.
I’ve had some extensive conversations with Ty Alexander about the dangerous waters of expressing strong opinions about gear. I’m no Joan Rivers, and I hardly claim any particular expertise in fashion. But I definitely know when a particular gear choice does NOT do it for me. And, occasionally, I think to myself, that hunk was made to wear that! As with everything, there are mechanical factors that go into my estimation of gear, like fit, color, and complexion. But in this case, that hard to describe, major component of what I like has to do with me deciding, at least momentarily, that a wrestler actually may be even sexier in this particular gear than out of it (trust me, that’s a rare conclusion for me). Well, at least I think to myself that I’d like to see him in it before ripping it off of him. In any case, what I think may be the most sensational gear choices of 2016 are as follows.
2nd runner up is Trophy Boy Ty Alexander. To say that a pair of trunks look like they were made to be worn by a wrestler is, quite literally, the truth when it comes to fashion-obsessed Ty. He has an immense collection of custom made wrestling outfits that he showed off in 2016. Possibly my favorite were the opal trunks he wore in his grudge match against fleeting tag team partner Chase Addams in Tag Team Torture 19. Lush fit, beautiful contrast with Ty’s all-over tan, and generously providing reading material for when he plants that ass on Chase’s face. They tell a story all on their own, which, considering Ty’s panache for storytelling in the ring, adds compelling nuance and subtext to a match.
I let my attention wander away from Jobe Zander for a while, but suddenly, in 2016, I took another look and discovered a whole new man. I’m assuming there was some nefarious transaction with Satan involved, or perhaps a genie in a bottle, to transform Jobe into the ripped sex god he suddenly is today. However it happened, I was blown away by the super-low-rise, sky blue banana hammock he wore this summer in Can-Am’s Decrotchery 14. His hot, rock hard glutes look insanely sensational, and Jobe’s masterpiece is framed like the work of art it is. The seaming, the gorgeously tight outline of his monster cock… everything about these trunks scream Jobe. A fashion critique would likely note that the pouch pulls away from his inner thigh just a fraction as a result of a fraction too little fabric to manage to cover his famously gargantuan python. But who the fuck are we kidding. That tiny gap, the shadowed space stretched too tight at the side of his crotch, is exactly what makes this gear perfection.
My choice for Best Gear in 2016 is Rafael Valmor from BG East’s Fan Fantasy 4. Honestly, Rafael had an unfair advantage, considering Kieran Dunne made him try out about half a dozen pairs of trunks before acknowledging the obvious truth that these baby blue square cut swim trunks achieved absolute perfection. The combination of that baby blue against his bronzed, Brazilian body is so fucking lovely! But it’s the cut that boggles my mind. I swear it looks like these trunks were sewn together right on his body. From the back, they dip exactly to the top of his ass crack, squeezing each gorgeous ass cheek like loving friend. From the front, they suck to his muscled, upper thighs, and then leave exactly enough acreage to let his mouthwatering bulge stick out just right. I know, I know, I keep using the word “perfection” too often in this category, but I can think of no other description for Rafael’s gear here. Kieran agrees with me here. Mouthwatering, aesthetic, masterful engineering, absolute perfection.
Best Wrestling Character
I think of this last category like picking Miss Congeniality, only most of the time, the most compelling, sexiest wrestling personalities in homoerotic wrestling are decidedly uncongenial. As a fan, I talk about this aspect of wrestling often, the sell, not just of any particular move or hold, but of the wrestling story as a whole. There are plenty of homoerotic wrestling matches that seem to pop up out of nowhere, with the combatants’ motivation for stripping down to their barest essentials and beating the living fuck out of each other remaining mostly a mystery. But there are some sensationally entertaining hunks on the scene who absolutely emote. They set the table for us, sometimes with dialogue and explicit backstory, but often with just a smirk and a sneer. I love wrestlers who can convince me that they aren’t just waiting to clock out, but that they’re motivated and passionate about working up a sweat and settling some score. This is less about being a heel or a babyface or a jobber, but about conveying the virtual world in which hot hunks in the briefest of trunks defy gravity, obliterate the conventions of common decency, and pit nothing but their bodies and cunning against one another for a reason. That’s fucking sexy as hell for me. So here are my top 3 wrestling personalities who did all of that the best in 2016.
I’ve missed seeing more of Aryx Quinn in homoerotic wrestling lately, but even showing up relatively rarely, he tears apart the competition in body and soul. As my 2nd runner up for best wrestling character, Aryx could easily drive fans wild with just that rocking body and those incredibly devastating wresting skills. And yet, every time he shows up, he brings that sexy as fuck, sneering, domineering, trash talking attitude that typically conveys a crystal clear motivation to rip an opponent apart in order to fuck them senseless in victory. I’d argue there’s no other wrestler in competition today who inhabits quite the wrestling character that he does with such supreme success.
My 2nd runner up for Best Wrestling Character is Kid Karisma. Kid K consistently conveys a transparent motivation for throwing down, built on several interlocking factors. He loves the way he looks, glistening with sweat and showing off his magnificent muscles, having beaten an opponent to submission and flexing over top of him. He clearly loves the way it feels, possessing another man, bending and breaking him, milking whimpers and screams out of him. Kid K sells a particularly sweet vintage of sadism without a hint of maleficence about it that’s incredibly novel and compelling. And, at least 2 times out of 3, he wrestles because it turns him on. So often, after ripping a lucky bastard apart piece by piece, you’ll catch Kid Karisma climbing on top, saddling up, and smacking down a lusty, passionate kiss. Both in his wrestling work and in conversation, he consistently comes across as a hearty partier, a prankster and a smart ass, who wrestles for the sheer pleasure of it.
Best Wrestling Character in 2016 for my tastes was Matt Thrasher. Again, like Aryx and Kid Karisma, Matt inhabits a relatively unique persona in the business, I think. Particularly in his work for Muscle Domination Wrestling, Matt is the Daddy’s Home franchise. He’s gorgeous, of course, but he absolutely owns the salt ‘n’ pepper daddy beat in today’s industry. Youngsters of all shapes and sizes keep throwing themselves in his way, calling him old, calling him grandpa. And with patience born of experience, Matt chuckles, and then turns the ageist bullshit on its head by beating the living fuck out of every ankle biter he meets. He’s bulging and hairy and sweats like a Margarita in August, but its the way he carries that off in his seasoned, savory picking apart of young bucks that makes him such a phenomenal character. He’s never impulsive. He’s deliberate and decisive. And he persistently possesses the sexy, compelling character motivation of crushing the dreams of youth as he turns cocky kids into his sniveling bitches.
So those are my picks for some of the aspects of homoerotic wrestling that I, personally, key off of, but which don’t tend to find their way into end of year fan polls. Feel free to praise any wrestlers who you’d have picked for these (or any other) category in the comments below. And happy new year, people. Here’s to a hope and prayer to the homoerotic wrestling gods that we all survive 2017 with a few civil liberties left.